Page 70 of Tell Me You Love Me

“You slept with him?” Fox’s voice hits me like an assault, her words slamming through my headphones rather than out into the shop for my son to overhear.

“Alana! You slept with your ex?”

“Yes.”Am I mad? Sad? Happy?Jesus, I don’t know. But a warm blush fills my cheeks. “More than a few times.”

“Alana!” She walks amongst New York foot traffic, laughing and stepping around others as she makes her way closer to work. “This is the guy you swore you wouldn’t go near.”

“Yes.”

“The one you said has a temper hotter than Hades, and, I quote, ‘he will probably want to kill me for what I did to him.’ That guy?”

I stack books on a shelf and play with positioning so the brighter, more alluring covers face outward. “Mmhm. I did.”

“More than a few times?” She chokes out. “You hoe! You knew you wouldn’t stay away.”

“I tried.” I lower to my knees to save my back and arrange books on the lower shelves. “I swear, Fox. I tried so hard. But this is a small town, and he’s just… he’s…”

“Got a giant donkey dick? Eyes that burn into your soul. Lips that even I kinda want to kiss, ya know, just to try them out.”

A low, warning snarl rolls along my chest.

“You’resopossessive,” she teases. “You act like I didn’t see the magazines, too. He’s sex on legs and has that dark, dangerous allure about him. His job is to smash other dudes for money, which in today’s society is kinda savage, but also, it’s got those Neanderthal hormones twitching, ya know? He stayed in that tiny ass town and waited for you. There are some seriously slick fighters in Brazil, so he could have gone there. Or Thailand. Or even Vegas, since that’s where he goes for his title fights, anyway.”

“You’re not helping me.”

“He could have gone anywhere! And you know he’s rich enough to do it. His family is trash—you already said that—so it’s not like anything was holding him to that town. But he stayed anyway.” She releases a wistful sigh. “He’s the man who couldn’t be moved.”

“His brother is here. And his friends.”

“Oh, please. Don’t act like I haven’t read your book. His brother is his best friend and would follow him anywhere. Half of your high school friends have already left for the city, and those who haven’t, could. Did you tell him yet?”

My stomach drops, just like it does every other time someone asks me that question. But my answer remains the same. Eighteen or twenty-eight, my decision remains firm. “No.”

“And you won’t?”

“No.”

“Because you think if you do, he’ll beat the absolute shit out of the guy and end up in prison?”

“Yes.” I sit back on my haunches and study my work so far. The rows and rows and rows of shelves I’ve rearranged. The books I’ve stacked. The dust I’ve cleared out and the couches I’ve deep cleaned. We’re almost ready for the public to come in, make a coffee, and settle in with a book. “I can’t tell him, Fox. He wouldn’t cope.”

“So you’d rather lie to him. But also, sleep with him sometimes.”

“I’m not lying to him!” I push to my feet and brush the dust off my legs. “I’ve established a boundary of not telling him. He’s not happy with it, but I think he’s coming to accept it.”

“Clearly, since you moved from ‘he’s going to kill me’ to ‘he makes me come three to five days a week.’”

I roll my eyes and head back to the front of the shop to collect my next stack of books. “You’re crass and rude, and it’s only been four times, total. Not even all in the same week.”

Franky looks up from the computer. “What is four times?”

Fox cackles. “Oopsie! Explain yourself out of that one, hooker.”

“Four times Fox has called this week and annoyed me.” I lean across the counter and kiss the top of his head, sneaking a look at his spreadsheet and the cells filled with numbers. Barcodes. Descriptions. Author names. Publishing houses. So much information, and all because of a nine-year-old who likes organization. “Fox says hello, honey. She misses us.”

“Miss you too, Aunty Fox.” He speaks in monotone, barely interested in the woman on the other side of the line. But she gets the words, at least. Which is a gift in itself. “You can take all those books now—” He points to a trolley filled with romance novels. “They go on shelf eleven. Make sure they stay in alphabetical order.”

“Yeah, Mom.” Fox taunts. “Don’t screw with his system.”

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